a calculated error
by the ocean floor
Summary: 'The risk I took was calculated, but damn am I bad at math.' Rated T for language.
1. precursor 1

The risk I took was calculated, but _damn_ am I bad at math.

For you to fully understand this risk, well let's start at the very beginning.

"Go out with me."

"_No_."

I guess I'm just one of those guys, you know those hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, blessed guys, who just come out unlucky in one way or another. You see I could have gotten any girl who pleased my fancy, but I am one hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, blessed- stubborn- _idiot_. Out of all the girls who deliberately followed me around, giggled about me at slumber parties and practically could start a fan base for me with their total mass, I had to pick the one girl who just couldn't give a fuck. It wasn't that she in total acted like I didn't exist (to insult someone you must know they exist...right?) she just had had it with my 'attitude' psh, women. Like I was saying though, I am shit out of luck as well as a complete and utter fool. And what can I say, I love a good chase.

"_Why?_" Exasperation, a key to pissing her off.

"Do you need an answer? Because I'm pretty sure that I gave you one the very first time you asked me that question - in the sixth grade. Now can you please leave? You're distracting me." She snapped, not even bothering to look me in my (amazing) eyes.

"Distracting you, huh?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking. Progress is progress and after four (middle of the fifth) school years of trying, it is welcome with open arms.

She sighed, set her papers down next to her, crossed her arms and gave me a very annoyed expression. "Once again you've taken a completely harmless comment and turned it into something dirty. Congrats."

"What can I say, I'm a boy of _many_ talents." I replied, collapsing next to her and placing my hand around the sofa in our school's fabulously boring library.

"Cute." She quipped, picking her paper back up and continuing to exchange between writing in her notebook and reading her text book. Her thin fingers were currently flying across her paper with her pen, her sparkly purple nails glinting in the fluorescent lights leaving a trail of sparkly, navy blue words in its wake.

To quote the boys in the school's locker room (on more than one occasion) as well as any other boy who'd ever met Massie Block, she was really rather bangable. For a self-important, narcissistic pig (her words not mine), this was a humble opinion, that's if someone like me can ever really be humble. She had that kind of air of confidence that so many girls lacked. She was certainly pretty too, with her long, wavy chestnut hair, her doe-like, twinkling amber eyes. Both of those things complimented by her milky, porcelain skin and her rather cheeky smile and small, slender figure (shit I sound gay in my descriptions). Just the way she held herself, the way that she came across as intimidating yet so delicate was pretty much fascinating for a guy like me who believed my tastes were above those lesser than me.

Well, there was that and I rather like the way her ass moves when she walks.

You see, most girls find my self loving ways and cockiness to be charming in its own way, but Massie, well as you can see she doesn't give two rats' asses for it. Since I'm soccer captain and all, chasing her is the perfect exercise. Not mentally though. Definitely not.

"Stop staring at me," she spat, still concentrated on writing. It was perplexing the way she just knew that I was staring at her, that and the way her writing looked like it was some fancy font off the computer, I bet she got A's just for her goddamn penmanship. "It's creepy."

"No," I responded, placing my feet on the glass table in front of us, the pencil case that was carefully balancing on her thigh teetered back and forth, threatening to fall off. "My eyes aren't hurting you."

I assumed she was in a pleasant mood today for three reasons 1) She just said 'no', usually she yelled, screamed and told me that I was not even worth a walk in the park, 2) She usually gets up and leaves when I'm around, 3) She tends to use very un-womanlike words when speaking to me.

"Yes, but just knowing your still here does." She muttered, her pen practically stabbing the pages.

"Tsk, tsk, anger doesn't suit you." I said, shaking my head ever so slightly, and smiling all the while. She slowly turned her head towards me, a flicker of flames in her amber eyes and a flash of annoyance. "Go out with me." I recited again, she gave me a dirty look, gathered her things, scooping them up in her arms. "Go on, just say yes." I said triumphantly, even though there really wasn't much to triumph when the girl you have got it bad for is (has been) rejecting you and is practically rubbing her fat 'no' in you face. "Try something new, you know stop being so _bland_."

"You, Harrington, don't have the right to give me advice on what to do with my life. My life is filled with flavor, thank you very much. Just because I'd rather not waste my time with the likes of you and your anal friends doesn't mean I'm bland. Take your head out of your ass and get this straight, I will _never_ go out with you. You are a horrible, good for nothing slacker who picks on people for no reason, and has the IQ of a dead squirrel." She said with a disgusted, contorted look on her face like how most mothers in Westchester would make when saying Kmart.

Now that is the Massie I know.

"Wow, your rejections get more original every time." I said enthusiastically, feigning carelessness and trying to cover up the fact that it actually hurt - just a smidge (more like a damn ton).

She huffed, turned on her heel and started to march away.

"Hey! Block! Wait!" But it was too late, her long hair had already rounded the corner of one too many bookshelves and the only person who paid any attention to my call was the librarian, who kicked me out without a second thought after seeing my Nike marks on the table.

This obviously was just event number one leading up to the shit of a calculated risk I happened to take.

Like I said earlier, I _suck_ at math.

* * *

><p><strong>i just so happened to change course in my mind when writing the second chapter for 'reckless', that led to me deleting the story (its still saved in a draft though) and writing this.<em> this<em> came to me whilst re-reading harry potter and the order of the pheonix, snape's worst memory to be exact. if you're a harry potter fan, i'm sure you understand what specifically drove me to writing this. obviously though, this is not harry potter and obviously i am a little more than rusty when it comes to writing, summer does that to you. so sorry for messing up the whole tense in the story, i can never just stick to present or past. also, sorry in advance for any errors in the story as it goes on. **

**if there are any errors, i'll fix it later when i re-read it.  
>review?<br>**

**-arielle**


	2. precursor 2

Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most.

That and my sister's Barbie because it was a hell of a lot less depressing watching her play with that thing compared to the week of hell she caused me back when we were kids. That's besides the point though, Sami has and always will be a buttface, or as I like to say, assface.

Anyway, back to my mind, my oh so hot, scrumptious mind. I honestly can't remember when I'd lost it, because that would mean trekking back years to when I first recognized my affection for the demon Massie Block, and even I can't pinpoint when exactly that was.

I mean people often ask me out of utter annoyance of the fact that I can't seem to shake her out of my head (yes, the very same one that I've seemed to have lost), "When did you start liking Massie Block?"

My response is a shrug, the better question would be, "when _didn't_ you like Massie Block?" My dear friend Cameron Fisher has seemed to figure that I didn't like her up until we were eleven and entering the sixth grade, after that he says it was all a big, fat blur, kind of like Mrs. Gordon our fifth grade science teacher.

"You've lost it man, literally." Joshua Hotz says, leaning back in his chair and balancing on the back two legs of it while shoving his face with chocolate pudding. Josh is my partner in crime, Cam is the nice, quiet one, Chris is the smart one and Kemp is the pervert. Everyone else who hangs out with us is just there to get attention, a true fact of life. Well that or they're gay and have it bad for one of us (probably me, I mean have you seen my face?).

I ignored Josh and continued to search the cafeteria's populous for a head of shiny, soft, luscious chestnut hair. Josh just snorted at me and continued to fill his big mouth, basking in the attention of the females of our school, not just of our junior class but below, above and beyond.

"You know, just a theory I've picked up, but I think she _hates_ you." Josh says, Kemp laughs and high fives him, Chris is too immersed in his homework to do anything and Cam chuckles.

"Funny." I replied, bending back in my chair to look for her.

Target located. I ruffled my hair and grinned, nodding my head at her and her stunning looks. If there was one other person at this school who matched my outrageously good looks, it was Massie Block. See? We're practically soul mates. I loved surrounding myself with good looking people, she loved surrounding herself with good looking people, we were both good looking. Catch my drift?

She was wearing one of those button up, full sleeved white shirts with the top buttons opened to reveal a navy blue tank top (note to self: Block likes navy blue), a pair of dark skinny jeans, black sandals and a gray handbag that was no doubt designer just like the rest of her attire. Her hair had that perfectly tousled look that other girls always tried so hard to achieve and she was standing with Dylan Marvil and Alicia Rivera, talking as they walked towards their table.

"My, my." Kemp said, shaking his head, his fro swaying. Josh nodded in appreciation, Cam smiled a bit and even Chris looked up to join us in our admiration. Girls like that were very sparse. "I didn't think they could get any hotter."

"Two words man," I said glaring at him, no one talked about Block like that except me, "fuck you."

Kemp cracked up and shook his head again, looking back towards the goddess(es if you really wanted to take note of the other two). You see our table was located at possibly the best location ever. To get to it you had to take a flight of stairs, meaning we sat at literally the _top_ of the cafeteria looking down on the students below us. There were only three tables around the area we sat, four in total. Ours was the closest to the steps, this meant easy access to the bottom as well as a great way (for Chris) to get to class on time. There was a table in front of us and a table behind us. Plus there was a table next to us. What did that mean? Well that meant Massie Block, Alicia Rivera and Dylan Marvil had to walk by us to be seated at their conveniently located window table (the one beside us), convenient for us, for them well they got to stare at me so I guess it all works out. I bet you're wondering, why didn't we choose to sit at their table so that we'd see their faces as they came towards us? Well we get that convenience as they walk toward us and after that we get a nice rear end view, get what I'm saying?

A very calculated choice on our parts.

Not exactly though, after just a few months in Freshman year of us staring at their asses, Massie and Co. decided to walk around the table in front of us and then proceed to their seats, simple yet effective. Yet on lucky days, they'd forget and just walk straight ahead so not all was lost.

Today happened to be one of those days.

"Nice ass Marvil!" Josh hollered at Dylan's back.

"Nice hormones Hotz!" Dylan yelled back without even turning around. Rivera and Block cackled, sliding into their seats and setting their trays down. Wow, Massie even looked amazing when chewing leaves.

"So Block, do you prefer seafood or Italian food?" I called out to her ruffling my hair again. She looked towards me with irritation and set her fork down, swallowing and then glaring. Dylan and Alicia followed her lead and glared at me. Honestly, _girls_.

Alicia and Dylan were really only rude to me to humor Massie, they didn't care for our company or dislike it. They were neutral, like the white of Massie's shirt and the porcelain color of her ski- you get the point, they were neutral. Though generally, they were pretty okay with us, I'd like to say I was on good terms with them.

"Neither." She said, turning back to her food.

"Then where should I take you for our first date?" I asked, leaning over Josh to look at her.

"Nowhere, I'm allergic to bullshit." She stuck her nose in the air and Leesh and Dyl giggled and the three of them leaned forward discussing who knows what girls discuss. Another fatal blow to the Harrington heart, _psh_.

"I'm starting to get the idea they aren't straight." Josh said, pointing his spoon in their direction and talking very matter-of-factly. Josh was like a magnet for all those born under the category of the female species (even some males on occasion), some even liked to say he was the most attractive boy on campus, obviously they have not seen me.

"Yeah, if they're not attracted to this," I said gesturing to my hot bod, "then what else?"

"That just made them like fifty times hotter." Kemp said, wagging his eyebrows, stealing glances at the table next to us.

"We can hear you, you perverts!" Alicia yelled, she rolled her eyes but there was a smile tugging at her lips, Dylan stuck her tongue out and Massie, well she just sat there stone faced and rather peeved.

_One day_, one fucking day.

* * *

><p>"What do you think of Derrick Harrington?"<p>

Derrick Harrington? What do _I_ think of Derr-_ick_ Harrington?

What kind of good for nothing idiot would ask me such a stupid question? Claire Lyons of course, my dance and AP Bio buddy. Is she stupid? No. Is she utterly ridiculous for asking my thoughts on this specific subject? You tell me.

I sputtered while trying to come up with a proper response to this innocent girl's innocently repulsive question. "He's an oaf." I let out finally, bending down to adjust my jazz shoe. She blinked, her spiraling pale, blonde curls falling into her face. She bit her lip and then just looked at me.

"_Why_?" Exasperation a key to my annoyance.

Seriously? I looked up at the ceiling in a show of irritation and slight thought. Calling Derrick Harrington an oaf is a very polite understatement, which just goes to show my kindness to those who I believe are in need of it as well as morals. Harrington is a repulsive, arrogant, self-centered, narcissistic, _toerag_. No not a face rag, arm rag, finger rag - a _toerag_. And a good for nothing, spoilt, rotten, grotesque, bumbling, idiot.

The common statistic for how much of the day he spent looking at himself in the mirror was 20 percent. I know what you're thinking, _that's completely normal_. But no because I am not finished yet. He spends another 30 percent bullying people, pulling pranks and being a complete jerk. 5 percent of his time flirting with random girls, 20 percent trying to get me to go out with him and the remaining 25 percent is getting a good look at himself in windows, spoons, cell phone screens, laminated paper, girls' compacts, peoples' glasses, metal objects, and just about anything that can reflect his face back at himself. Oh and if he can do any of his other activities while staring at himself, its a plus in his books. To top it all off he completes each and every statistic by also boasting, gloating and talking about himself, his glorious lifestyle, his "badass" pranks, how cool him and his friends are, himself, his "blessed" looks, himself, all his amazing soccer wins and triumphs, himself, how so many girls just loved him, oh and did I mention, _himself_?

(Then again 77% of all statistics are incorrect. Obviously though this falls under the remaining 23%. Funny because that's the same as his test score average.)

"If a guy like him asked me out it would only take him one try to get a yes." Claire said simply, flicking her hair out of her light blue eyes. I ignored her and stood up. Claire was just so sweet and innocent and so pure it was sad to imagine an asshole like Harrington corrupting her with his sinful ways.

"You'd say yes to anyone even if he was a dying 83 year old man who still picked his nose. You Claire are just too _sweet_." I stated simply walking over to the center of the wood floored room and sat on the floor. I stretched my feet out and leaned forward to touch my toes.

"What kind of heartless person would refuse an old man?" Claire asked critically, I snorted.

"A person with a brain." I replied, pulling my legs a part and leaning into the floor, my nose touching the wood and my legs in a center split. Claire mimicked my stance, rolling her eyes and muttering things about old people.

Now I bet you think I'm a horrible person, no? Well I'm not, in fact I find myself to be pretty nice compared to most girls and filled to the brim with morals. Kemp Hurley once made a joke: "The Massie doll comes fully clothed and equipped with morals! Call now and you'll get a free layer of clothing and a nun habit! (Bible sold separately)."

I for one did not appreciate the joke. To clear things up I am not a Bible thumping, habit wearing prude. I just have standards that certain people at this school would not understand because they are simply tasteless, thank you very much.

I pulled myself up and stared straight into the pristine, spotless mirror that provided as a wall. I stared at myself contemplating what I should do with my hair for tomorrow, obviously though, I can't be left in peace.

Staring at me through the window in the door was a mop of shaggy caramel hair and a single chocolate brown eye, peering at me through the corner of the window. The eye crinkled at the edge as though the owner was smiling but I knew better, the owner was smirking. I watched with the least amount of enthusiasm as possible, a dead panned sort of look on my face and an even more irritated one when the person raised a hand and ruffled their already unkempt hair.

Of course that was not the end of it because why would that ever be?

By now of course I was not the only one who had noticed the abnormality that was the tip of the school's social pyramid. And by now his whole face was in view (including both eyes), he winked at me then slammed a piece of torn paper on the window. It was written in horribly crappy writing and since it was mirror view I had to tilt my head to read the paper. Reminder to self: Curiosity killed the cat and pissed me off no end.

The first note read:

_'I've fallen for you like an Amazonian tree.'_

I stared at him blankly, what idiocy was this?

He grinned and slapped another note on the door. By now most of the girls in the room were 1) giggling, 2) shooting me dirty looks, 3) blinking back tears because they'd once dated Derrick Harrington and broken up due to his disgusting, pedophilic obsession for me.

_'Hard, fast, and although unnoticed by the world's population, not without great consequence.'_

I mouthed something along the lines of 'fuck off' and he winked and mouthed back a 'only if you come with me'.

"Smooth." I said loudly, getting up and reaching for the makeshift "blind" that my teacher had placed over the door's window. It was really just a cheetah print piece of wrapping paper, but as long as it did the charm of keeping Derrick's face out of my life, I was glad.

"Go out with me," He said, I ignored him and then just as I turned around him and his stupid friend Joshua Hotz stumbled into the room due to the weight they'd been pressing against the door. I inwardly groaned. The day Harrington didn't make himself known was a day that was yet to come. If someone hadn't noticed his obnoxious little stunt earlier, they sure as hell spotted him now.

Another thing about Harrington that utterly irked me was the he never asked if I'd go out with him, he just demanded it. Honest to god the boy had issues and yes I felt extremely sorry for not only him but those who had to deal with him on a daily basis. One of those people happens to be myself and yes I pity myself as much as one can pity oneself.

Nice to say though, Mrs. Moc was not happy with Oaf 1 and 2's entrance and neither was the Dean of History when he found they'd ditched their AP US class that as a matter of fact, he was teaching.

Life was good to those who were morally correct...sometimes.

* * *

><p><strong>so i thought i'd include massie's pov every now and then to see her view on things. though i'm sure i've made it clear that she hates derrick and harbors zero feelings for him (just for now of course, or maybe i'll be a jerk and make her never fall for him? - who knows?). so yeah i have a pretty clear idea for where this is going which is saying something since i usually have no idea where i'm going with anything. <strong>

**so yeah, review? :) **

**-arielle.**


End file.
